Of Phoenixes and Vultures
by Saviikins
Summary: An exploration into a fairly untouched side to Quel/Sin'Dorei lore. Selthiras is the enigmatic leader of a political resistance syndicate, and Savonyth is his young apprentice. But how long can those who stand against the tide remain standing?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, or its setting. I merely own most of the characters in this story.  
>Warnings: Infrequent use of strong language, violencegore in later chapters, politics. Reviews are very much appreciated since this story means a lot to me as a writer, and I wish to do anything I can to improve it.**

Savonyth drew the flimsy blade from the makeshift sheath at his hip, glancing behind him nervously. It was impossible to shake the feeling of uneasiness that lingered in the air, clinging to his insides as he crossed the path of blackened earth beneath his feet that cut through the woods like a river of decay. The array of withered plants rotted in their blood-soaked soil, littered with remnants of charred bones, splintered shields and the occasional scrap of colour torn from a battlemage's robe, offering a mocking contrast to the lush green forest that surrounded this dead scar.

Savonyth's long, slender ears twitched as he heard the far-off shout of a ranger further down the path of wreckage. He shuddered involuntarily as the images of endless waves of undead horrors ravaging through his homeland flooded his mind. For every one that fell, two more arose in its place, and the bodies of their once honoured dead were risen again to be twisted into a wicked weapon of hate. He was unable to shake the biting sense of guilt that his scrawny, untrained form had been virtually useless in pushing back the lines of undead that stretched all the way from Silvermoon's west gate down to the rising smoke of the burning Ghostlands. He had blundered about the battlefield, brandishing his flimsy blade as the city gates fell, and the Scourge pushed onwards towards the Sunwell- the very key to the Quel'Dorei's existence, or so he had been told.

He picked his way through the rubble of the destroyed half of the city until he reached a familiar clearing near Silvermoon's very outermost wall. The spot was little looked upon and mercifully sheltered by the dense foliage of two oak trees. A broken ranger's training dummy rested lazily against the thick trunk of one of the trees, unable to stand alone. Savonyth let the worn leather pack that was slung across his shoulders drop to the grassy floor, and pointed the feeble blade in his hand purposefully at the "throat" of the dummy, swiping his arm in an ostensibly graceful, but to the trained eye, uncontrolled slicing motion. It was then that he lost himself to a pattern of unnamed movements, his glowing blue eyes fixed as if glued to his target. His head started to spin, and he paused, mid-strike, driving the fairly blunt tip of his blade into the grass and using it to support himself while taking in shaky deep breaths. Since the Sunwell was destroyed by Arthas' taint-soaked resurrection of Kel'Thuzad, Savonyth, like many others of his race often found himself overcome by moments of debilitating weakness, and even at times, pain. With each passing day, he found himself growing more unquenchably empty, the feeling of hollowness inside him fuelling an even more unsettling restlessness.

Worst of all, he was _angry. _Filled to the brim with rage and hate and a primal, venomous spite for his own people. He loathed the way the nobles looked at him, the fact that _they _were the reason for his futility against the Scourge. For what noble soldier would take the fatherless son of a Murder Row Courtesan into his house? What Mage would take on an apprentice who couldn't even light a candle with a snap of his fingers? The Quel'Dorei prided themselves on their magical ability, of which Savonyth had none. Perhaps the reason for this was his lack of mental discipline that was common among those not formally educated, or perhaps he was just born entirely backwards. He would, for the rest of his life or so it seemed, be a servant crushed under the steely attitude of the ruling elite that he loathed with such fire. What right did _they _have to deny him all that he dreamed of?

He snarled in annoyance, dropping onto his front, supporting himself with his wiry arms, his frustration fuelling his determination as he began his daily routine of two hundred press ups, an exercise that appeared to do him little good, as he still found himself incapable of fully lifting the two handed claymore he'd been attempting to steal from the Blacksmith's anvil for weeks. As he lifted himself shakily from the floor, he was unable to hear little other than the sound of his elbow joints creaking unsettlingly, mixed with his own laboured breathing, rendering him completely unable to notice the sound of soft-soled leather boots crunching through the grass towards him. The man stopped a few feet away from him, leaning his back against the tree opposite the training dummy, and smirked.

" Straighten your back. It'll make it more difficult to lift yourself, but will be far more beneficial in the long run. You have good shoulders, but your elbows need work". His tone was commanding, and his voice well spoken, his tongue sliding smoothly over the soft Thalassian words.

Savonyth scrambled to his feet with a startled cry, grabbing his blade from the grass beside him and eyeing the newcomer frantically up and down. He was clad from head to foot in snug, well-stitched black leather armour, a fine pelt cloak flowing down to his heels. The similarly black cloth hood of the cloak shrouded the man's face mostly from view in the light filtering shadily down from the branches of the trees, meaning that Savonyth could make out little more than the other Quel'Dorei's intense azure eyes illuminating the pallid complexion around them, which he found somewhat unsettling. The lower half of the man's face appeared darker somehow, and locks of limp white-blond hair were splayed upon either side of his chest. Savonyth's eyes fixed warily on the man's waist, where a sturdy leather belt supported two sheathed daggers at each hip, as well as a small velvet pouch from which the handles of what were presumably a set of throwing knives protruded threateningly. He took an instinctive step back, raising his chin defiantly, his knuckles white around the hilt of his blade.

"You want something?" He tried to keep his tone as unwavering as possible

" Nothing at all. I was merely attempting to offer some advice". The hooded man shrugged nonchalantly, his tone unreadable.

"Oh." Savonyth blinked, relaxing slightly but still refusing to lower his blade. The man chuckled softly.

" I assure you, there is no need to raise your weapons, not that your blade would do much harm. I am merely waiting for a friend". He extended a hand to flick the tip of the sword with a contemptuous, lopsided grin, causing the thin steel to wobble precariously. Savonyth scowled.

"Well, in that case, you can piss off". The red-headed boy growled from between clenched teeth, eliciting a burst of laughter from the other male. There seemed to be nothing mocking about the laughter; it was genuine and good natured, but it irritated Savonyth nonetheless.

"The ability to say exactly what one feels is a rare trait these days. A trait that appeals particularly to me. " The hooded man inclined his head to the side, as if musing on something. "What is your name, boy?".

Savonyth hesitated, before internally shrugging. "Savonyth Tel'Nithe. Yours?"

"Selthiras Highvale, but you may call me Serrar. Well met, Savonyth." He extended a gloved hand, but the boy before him did nothing but stare at it blankly. Selthiras lowered his hand and held the boy's unwavering, cautious gaze for a few seconds. He noticed that his face was typically Elven, with sharp and angular features that the awkward stage between boyhood and manhood had not yet allowed him to grow into. His dark red hair was a mess not dissimilar to that of a mop; unkempt, falling into his eyes, and cut with what was evidently not a particularly sharp pair of scissors. His frame was what could be described as gangly; tall and stretched out, with his wirily thin arms and legs contrasting to his noticeably broad shoulders. Judging by his scruffy cloth attire and scuffed boots, he was most definitely not of anything near noble birth.

Savonyth broke the man's gaze and turned away, idly slashing at the target dummy once more, embarrassed about having been discovered here. Selthiras silently watched for a few moments, either unaware or uncaring that his presence unsettled the boy.

"Do you always train here?"  
>Savonyth nodded curtly, his lips pressed together in a look of concentration, as he tried his best to distract himself from Selthiras' presence, his blade movements becoming increasingly erratic.<p>

"And your master does not mind it? I would most certainly not allow any student of _mine _to train with such poor equipment". He said, gesturing to the training dummy with a wave of his hand. There seemed to be something loaded about that question, although Savonyth had yet to figure out what it was. The man was suspicious indeed.

"Ain't got a master, so stop nosin' about". Savonyth's bluntness once again made Selthiras chuckle darkly. It was a somewhat husky, deep, but not all too unpleasant sound.

"Ah. Self-trained, I see. An admirable feat, but I fear that you will not get very far unless you get yourself some experience, and more importantly a decent weapon. Prancing around a dummy is hardly akin to being in the field of battle, you know". He grinned, lips pulling back in his usual lopsided manner, baring typically sharp, white Elven teeth. However, it was evident that the comment was not entirely as tongue in cheek as it seemed, and Savonyth wondered if perhaps the man was hinting at something, and felt a pang of rage as he was apparently insulted. He scowled yet again, and expression that seemed to frequent the young man's sharp face regularly.

"I know. I fought the Scourge with the rest of 'em. " He spoke indignantly as he stopped, and turned to face Selthiras, whose grin had dissipated into blankness; the sort of blankness that leads one to think that there is something lurking beneath it. He nodded.

"Determination by the bucketload. Another valuable trait. Tell me, Savonyth, where is it you come from? I wish to know where this remarkable determination is rooted." He straightened up from leaning against the tree, to join his hands behind his back as he eyed Savonyth searchingly. He seemed to sense something within the boy, something that was not all too dissimilar from himself, a most similar sort of unchained anguish.

"Murder Row, but what's it to you?" Savonyth returned the same searching expression, but a spark of hope had already ignited itself within his chest.

"Just curious". The spark fizzled out before Selthiras could speak again. "Do you have a current occupation?"

"I work for Baelrynn, the tavern master, doing whatever sort of Felshite he asks me to. But again, what's it to you?"

"Ah" Selthiras chose to skim over the question, instead pressing on with questions of his own. "But what is a young man who should be in training for service in the Thalassian military doing working in a Murder Row inn?"

"Mind your own bleedin' business" was the curt reply.  
>Selthiras smirked. He was an intelligent man, and needed no more information to work out the boy's current predicament, He seemed to have a particular talent for striking just the right nerves to succeed in what he referred to as 'swaying people around to the right way of thinking". Many had often called him manipulative.<p>

"I am going to be honest with you, Savonyth. I know what it is that you want, and I can provide you with that. " Savonyth opened his mouth to speak, but Selthiras raised a hand, motioning for him to silence.

"I am Commander Serrar Highvale of the Azure Syndicate. I know that most likely does not mean anything to you at present, but believe me, whether or not you chose to join us, it will. We are an Order consist of a group of individuals who are... concerned about the current state of Quel'Thalas and the way things are run. We are most certainly _not _a Government organisation and very rarely accept those of noble birth into our ranks. Do you follow?" Selthiras spoke matter of factly as he looked to Savonyth with a knowing smirk. The boy nodded, taken aback at Selthiras' perceptiveness, and waited in poorly concealed awe for him to continue.

" I can offer you military training of the most thorough and rigorous kind, provided that you swear allegiance to me and my Order. What say you?"  
>Savonyth was, for a moment, completely dumbstruck. All that he ever wanted had just been handed to him by this strange man, and yet a part of him wanted to resist. He did not trust Selthiras, but that was irrelevant. He took a deep breath before looking Selthiras straight in the eyes and said:<p>

"I accept". Selthiras nodded sharply, resting a hand on the hilt of one of the daggers at his hip, making Savonyth yet more uneasy.

" Very well. The Syndicate is very much a brotherhood of honour and allegiance to one's comrades, and so you will swear by your blood to remain loyal until the end, come victory or defeat. You will follow any order given to you by your superiors, and any sort of treachery will be dealt with severely. You will be ready to defend the Order's principles, purpose and above all, those who you call your comrades. Do you swear allegiance?"  
>Savonyth was now grinning from ear to ear. He nodded solemnly, his blue eyes alight with possibility.<p>

"By my blood, I swear".

"Then if you would follow me. I don't believe this ...friend of mine is going to turn up after all". With another chuckle he turned, cloak swishing and daggers rattling, with Savonyth striding eagerly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: I've sorted out the layout of chapter one so that it looks less like a wall of text, and will continue to use the same format, thanks to Demon-Something . Tto answer your question, the story starts off just before the Burning Crusade expansion, and ventures further into the actual expansion as the story progresses.  
>And to a certain reviewer: I can safely assure you there isn't going to be any yaoi in this story. Not even hinted yaoi. ^^<br>Happy reading!**

The Headquarters of the Azure Syndicate were one of those curiously constructed buildings that seemed far larger on the inside than it did on the outside. Nestled cosily in between two houses on the west side of the serene Falconwing Square, it was as mundanely inconspicuous as its neighbours; consisting of white stone walls, windows of translucent violet glass and a small, dark oak door edged with gold that made up a typical picture of Quel'Dorei architecture . When Savonyth stepped over the threshold, Selthiras striding purposefully ahead of him in absolute silence, he was quite surprised by what he saw. The building's interior looked very little like one would imagine the headquarters of a covert organisation to be, and instead upheld a far more homely feel. An array of cloaks hung from a stand to the left of the door, and the hallway was narrow, with two doorways leading from it to its left, and a sturdy varnished wooden staircase to its right. Savonyth gingerly followed Selthiras through the nearest door into what was presumably the kitchen, peering cautiously around the doorway before actually stepping through it. A young woman sat at the table in the centre of the room, pouring over a tattered book as a pot bubbled on the crackling fireplace. She didn't look up as they entered.

"Serrar, before you ask, Dendris cooked it, not me".  
>Selthiras responded with a slight grunt, flicking the cloth hood back from his face in one swift motion. Savonyth's eyes were immediately drawn to the vicious-looking scar that marred the skin stretching from midway down his right cheek, half covered by the straight, limp hair that fell onto his face, right the way down to beneath his leather tunic; a mix of dusky pink stain-like marks and melted, mangled-looking skin. Selthiras felt the boy's eyes on him, and flinched noticeably, an almost pained, humourless grin on his lips.<p>

"No one would expect an Undead army to use siege engines, but believe me, they do. Hit me full force in the side of my face, even the Light couldn't take away the scarring. Not that it wasn't worth the pain, however. Falconwing still stands, does it not?" He chuckled darkly, turning his head to face the woman sat at the table. With her stocky frame, light olive skin tone and rounded button nose, Savonyth could have mistaken her for a human if it weren't for her obviously pointed, albeit wide and stubby Elven ears, and her softly glowing blue eyes.

"Did you say Dendris was cooking? Do eat up, then." Selthiras flashed the girl a sarcastic smirk as she looked up from her book to glower at him, flicking her messy braid of thick brown hair over her shoulder. She glanced towards Savonyth, wrinkling her nose slightly.

"New blood?" Selthiras gave her a curt nod in response, before turning out towards the hall, ushering Savonyth in front of him, and closing the door behind them. Once inside the hallway, Savonyth eyed him expectantly.

"Captain Morrigan Dawnsorrow. A half Elf, and your superior. So I'd advise you not to stare". Selthiras gestured to the second door of the hallway. "The drawing room, where the books are kept, and Order meetings are held. You shall be informed whenever such meetings will take place. In fact, I believe there is to be one tonight. I shall send for you later this evening ".  
>Savonyth made no response, but instead focused on thirstily drinking in any information he was given by his new Commander. The concept of this Syndicate and its place of residence was new and strange to him, but not undesirable in the slightest. It was more welcoming than his own cramped apartment above the tavern in Murder Row, at least. Properties, like much else since the invasion of the Scourge, had become impossibly expensive, forcing the boy of eighty-three years to unfortunately continue residing with his mother, who he hated with as much, if not more venom than he hated the nobles. He had often pondered murdering her, since a Murder Row whore would hardly be missed, but he never seemed to be quite able to put the idea into practise. Perhaps this would change.<p>

The wooden staircase creaked as he and Selthiras ascended it into the airy landing of the first floor. Selthiras halted abruptly in front of yet another heavy wooden door, the violet tinted beams of light filtering through the window at the rear of the corridor giving his pallid complexion an even more ethereal look to it. He placed a hand on the wrought iron doorknob, allowing the door to creak open to reveal a basic, but comfortable-looking bedroom, with a small, sturdy bed pushed against one side of the wall, and a desk and wardrobe resting up against the other, a pleasant breeze drifting through the open window in between.

"This room is yours, if you choose to reside with the rest of us. But of course, if you are content with your current home, do not feel obliged to take it". He glanced over his shoulder at Savonyth, who snorted in amusement.

"I'll be taking it, all right. No way I'm staying in Murder Row". Selthiras perked a blonde brow.

"May I ask why not?"

" You really think I'm going to stay living in that cramped Fel-hole with a harlot who boots me out whenever she sees fit just because she's too nether-damned thick to earn a living any other way than doing the dirty with whoever pays her?" Savonyth snarled out his words contemptuously. It had been the same way ever since he could remember. When his mother was seeing one of her 'clients', he was swiftly ushered from the house and into the streets of Silvermoon to fend for himself. Whatever he did for the rest of the day, or night, was entirely up to him. Food was often a rarity during the day, unless Baelrynn, his current employer, was feeling particularly generous. Selthiras stifled a laugh- the boy's tongue was sharp indeed.

"And this harlot you speak of...is your mother?"

"Aye". Savonyth replied flatly.

"And your father...?"  
>"Could be Grand Magister bleedin' Rommath for all I know". Savonyth shrugged, an almost cringing grin on his lips. Selthiras nodded passively, although the boy's evident loathing for his parentage struck a familiar chord somewhere inside Selthiras' mind.<p>

"In that case, you are welcome to make this your home. My personal quarters are just down the hallway, should you require anything. The armoury is also located down the hall, but that is something we shall become better acquainted with in the following weeks. I shall leave you to settle. Sun's grace". Selthiras strode down the hall, and disappeared into one of the doorways, leaving Savonyth to explore the fascinating new world that had just appeared in front of him.

* * *

Savonyth awoke to the sound of a jaunty, harsh knock on the door. He rose from his bed, stretching groggily, eyes wide as he surveyed his surroundings, the earlier events of the day flooding into his mind. He had no idea how he'd managed to fall asleep, or indeed how long he'd been there.

"Oi Savonyth. Or whatever your name is. Meeting's starting, and Serrar wants ya there. " The voice was low in pitch, and rough-sounding, but distinctly female. He hastily grabbed the scuffed, hole-peppered leather boots from the foot of the wardrobe opposite him, pulling them on quickly with one hand as he opened the door. The dark-haired half elf Savonyth recognised from the kitchen stood with her arms folded against the railings at the top of the stairs.

"Hurry up, or Serrar'll give ya a lashing for being late" Morrigan laughed with a tinge of cruelty as she descended the stairs, Savonyth in tow.

The meeting room was a large and dimly-lit room, comfortably furnished with a sizeable, battered wooden table and chairs in the centre of it. Various bookcases filled with colourful, ageing tomes and cabinets containing a multitude of curious artefacts lined the walls. A shield baring the crest of a hawk sat atop a hill hung above the unlit grey stone fireplace, and a weapon rack stood proudly baring a selection of finely crafted longswords stood next to the doorway that presumably lead to the house's rear grounds at the back of the room. Morrigan sauntered in, took a seat at the table, and gestured for Savonyth to sit next to her.

"Welcome." A raven-haired man across offered Savonyth a warm smile from across the table. The lines that creased around his typically blue eyes as he smiled gave his face a comforting softness. Savonyth responded with a nod, peering across to Selthiras, who stood at the head of the table, leaning over it, his hands spread wide on the scratched wooden top.

"The crystals", Selthiras announced, as though it were a title, abruptly hushing the assortment of conversations between those gathered around the table. "Are to be implemented in the city within the next two weeks. We do not know exactly when this is going to occur, so it will be nearly impossible to prevent". Savonyth's eyes drifted down to Selthiras' arms as he spoke. The sleeves of his leather tunic were rolled up to his elbows, and a strange, shiruken-like symbol etched in black onto Selthiras' left arm was visible, the words "Blood is the Price of Glory" inked below it, barely legible in the room's dim light. He remembered noticing the same symbol visible in the open neck of the dark-haired woman's shirt, just above her left breast. He guessed it must be the crest of the Order.

"But we are going to do _something _of course?" The raven haired man peered expectantly over to Selthiras, who nodded.

"Absolutely, Duskrunner. The question is indeed not that we_ are_ going to act, but _how _we will act".

"...Does Fel burn?" A robe-clad man seated next to Duskrunner grinned impishly, stroking the beard on his chin that, like the rest of his hair, was coloured an eccentric shade of bright orange that clashed garishly with his deep blue robes.

"Dendris, you know full well that when in crystallised form, it burns about as well as a wet rag" , a well-spoken woman baring the signet of the Thalassian Ranger Corps on her forest green surcoat chided him gently. Her voice carried a musical, soothing quality to it, but her hard, sharply angled face and icy eyes quite ruined the effect. Dendris laughed.

"Actually, I think Dendris could well be onto something". All eyes shot back to Selthiras. "We could simply destroy the crystals after they are introduced."

"Because they're gonna place them in areas that would make any attempt at destroying 'em go completely unnoticed, aren't they?" Morrigan snorted in sceptical disbelief.

"She has a point. " The Ranger woman spoke again, pausing to brush away a stray hair that escaped the tight blonde tail at the back of her head. " The Magisters will of course keep them closely guarded, most likely to prevent over indulgence than vandalism. The last thing they will want is a scandal of wretched running loose in the city". A smirk formed on her thin lips.

"Oh, I _hardly _doubt it, Amiria. They want us all to gorge ourselves on Fel until we can't feel our own nervous systems anymore. The mindless are easily controlled." Dendris scowled, plucking a curved pipe from the folds of his robe. It ignited with nothing more than a click of his fingers, swathes of blue smoke starting to shroud the room and its occupants.

"Taking a leaf outta the Scourge's book, then?" Savonyth piped up out of nowhere, grinning up at Dendris, who nodded in agreement, suckling pensively at the end of his pipe.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if that was where they got their inspiration, but we digress".

"Then perhaps it would be a better idea to try and find out _where _the crystals are being placed before we plan any further" Duskrunner offered, in his placid, yet oddly authoritative tone.

"No." Selthiras replied flatly. "If we do not move quick enough, then the whole Thalassian population could become infected with this...magic", Selthiras waved a dismissive hand, straightening up and resting the other hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Before they've even realised what they are doing. We need to make people _think_, we need to make them realise that draining from demons is _not _the way forward. After all, did the Legion not create the Scourge that killed so many of us?" Selthiras raised his voice slightly, igniting a wave of antagonised hubbub among the gathering.

"Look". Morrigan said, rising from her seat and silencing the room once more. "We need information from the inside. Serrar. Why don'tcha send for Larrenos?".  
>This provoked a loud, obnoxious snort from Dendris.<p>

"Larrenos? If that snake's actually on our side then I'm Anasterian's left bollock." Dendris remarked loudly, raising his voice in outrage.

"Oh, do be quiet Valkeran, you don't know that he _isn't _on our side. He's helped us in the past; he was the one who informed us of the Sun Prince's plans to embark for Draenor. Besides, it would be completely illogical for him to have done that if he was truly working for the Magesterium. ". Amiria sniffed in Dendris' general direction, her chin raised defiantly. It became clear to Savonyth that neither was particularly fond of the other.

"I agree with Amiria. I shall speak with Larrenos as soon as he is available tomorrow morning, and we will gather again when I have obtained the necessary information. We _will _make ourselves heard." Selthiras placed his palms on the table again, his eyes focused and glowing intensely through the smoky room, which had darkened considerably as afternoon gave way to night. 


End file.
